A little stream ran down the centre, finding its way among piled masses of
fallen rock. On each side the cliffs towered so high that only a mere slit
of sky was visible. It was as wild and gloomy a spot as Ken had ever seen.
'I've seen better walking,' observed Roy, as a flat stone slipped under
his foot, and nearly pitched him over into the bed of the brook.
'It's better than that abominable cliff, anyhow,' returned Ken. 'But I'd
give something to know where we're going.'
'I can tell you. The sea. If we follow the stream we're bound to reach
salt water.'
'But where?' said Ken--'where? I don't know that I've got the points of
the compass very clear in my head, and there's no sun visible yet, but if
I'm not mistaken, this brook runs east, not west.'
Roy pulled up with a puzzled expression on his face.
'Pon my Sam, I believe you're right. In that case, this is the head waters
of some stream that runs out into the Straits.'
'That's my notion, and consequently we're still going plumb in the wrong
direction.
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